Me and My Shadow
by carryon-vs
Summary: Episode 1.13. When Sam uses his powers to save lives while battling with himself over the action taken, Dean thinks Sam is in control. Sam is not so sure. Sam's subconscious forces him to face his fear and accept who he is, even the dark parts.
1. Chapter 1

Carry On...a Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 10: Me and My Shadow

Authors: *bright and sendintheclowns

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

A/N 2: There will be a short, three-week hiatus after the conclusion of this episode. Therefore, read at your own peril :)

Episode Summary: When Sam uses his powers to save lives while battling with himself over the action taken, it brings it all to the surface. Dean thinks Sam is in control. Sam is not so sure. Sam's subconscious forces him to face his fear and look into himself to accept who he is, even the dark parts.

PART ONE

It all started so perfectly normal. Plumbing warehouse, something inside having a field day with the employees, getting off on wringing their necks. The constant moving of heavy ass equipment in the night had pointed in one direction only; poltergeists. No biggie, they'd done it a dozen times at least. Missouri had shown them the hex bags and they never failed them. The trick was to keep the critters occupied without getting your own neck wrung while you trapped them with the bags and they promptly took off.

Not exactly like fighting hard-ass demons or anything. Really no biggie at all.

The moment the freaking SOBs had Dean cornered, Sam knew he'd miscalculated their viciousness and that drastic measures were needed. Dean was still not well enough; he was slower than usual, they both were and now their asses were on the line. He'd been a fool to get talked into this supposedly easy hunt. He should have known better, this job had no guarantees of survival. And taking unseen energies on in a warehouse was just stupid, however much the owner had pleaded with Bobby about stopping the things killing his workers. And why had they both been so incredibly cocky that they denied Bobby's offered help? Dean's happy face at the prospect of getting some 'sons of bitches' to bite the dust had been contagious and Sam had just happily agreed that the two of them were enough. Stupid, plain and simple. There wasn't just one Poltergeist in this joint, there were at least four and they seemed supercharged and pissed off. Sam didn't even know if they had the hex bags on him still, he distinctly remembered clutching then with his left hand just a minute ago. Being thrown around must have scrambled up his head because it was a deadly sin to lose your weapon of choice in the middle of a battle.

Getting stuck under a pile of sewer tubes, while the Poltergeists were going after Dean with flying utensils of the heavier kind, was downright ludicrous for a hunter. Dean cursed and ducked when a chainsaw came flying in his direction.

The lighting inside did not work to their advantage either; the only source was now the streetlight from the yard behind the open port. The metal shelves gleamed while chains clattered ominously.

"Dean, get out!" Sam hollered when metal contacted with plastic right by his head and he found himself rolling forward with the pipes, enough to free his legs and have him land with nose pressed to the coarse cement floor. The large port was still open, letting in light and air, smelling of old tarps and diesel mixed with something odd that Sam just wasn't able to identify. When he raised his head, he noted Dean on the floor by the wide port, grappling for support to get up, just to have to throw himself out of the way of more flying objects.

Sam was up on his feet, running toward Dean when he heard the thunderous sound of heavy objects moving; large cement rings, stored on rails, had been set in motion, rolling slowly towards a drop that would kill Dean in the blink of an eye.

It all happened in a fraction of a second. His hands went up, and he wasn't sure how he did it but he sucked the energy out of the Poltergeists and the cement rings came to a temporary halt, as did every sound in the small industry hall. Like everything was on hold, waiting for Sam's next move.

Then Dean took a rushed breath, wheezing at him to stop fucking around and follow him out.

Sam had to make a decision. His arms were starting to shake from the effort of holding the energies still, his heart beat so fast that he was unable to speak and Dean was still right under the cement rings. The Poltergeists struggled against his hold, battled it and Sam was able to feel the rage emanating from them, soundless surges of something akin to electricity. He wouldn't be able to hold them long enough to let Dean, if his brother even had it in him, place the hex bags in the walls and eradicate them the old fashioned way.

Sam's mind raced for a safe solution. Cold sweat had his clothes clinging to him by now, and he could feel himself getting weaker. When energy escaped him enough to let the cement start moving anew, he made his decision. He hurled Dean out of the building just as cement crashed to the floor and clashed with the wall with force enough to create sharp crackling sounds as the wall started to give in.

"_Sam!_" Dean's voice seared through the racket.

Sam staggered backwards toward the gate, still fighting the energies with his own until he sank to his knees on the pavement, legs shaking too much to support him any longer. Dean's hands gripped his shoulders hard, but Sam didn't budge. With Dean standing behind him, his only option was to let the Poltergeists' energies mirror off his own body to then collide with the walls and the shelves, then turn back and mirror off him all over. The whirlwind it created made the Poltergeists lose control and implode on themselves in a rain of sparks. And right there, in a zap of blinding light, Sam saw something that resembled a human figure. Like a bluish shadow, flickering in the light, like a warning. It was gone in a moment, but the image was like etched into Sam's awareness. He held his breath as the force he'd let loose ripped a hole in the ceiling, sent live-wires sparkling in the darkness and the walls started to cave while alarms went off, wailing in the night.

Dean cussed breathlessly and tugged Sam to his feet, dragging him stumbling backwards, away from the caving walls. The cacophony was deafening; metal and concrete grinding together, air crackling with electric current let loose. Dust blinded them and Dean pulled him over the yard and to the safety of the street.

"Dean, wait!" Sam panted. "Gotta go check the other side! What if someone -."

He didn't have time to finish the sentence before Dean shoved him into the passenger seat, slamming the door on him and sprinting to the driver's side.

"Dean," Sam tried again but his brother revved the car and drove through the thick falling dust just as the building behind them collapsed with a roar.

Sam looked back, seeing smoke and fire and something inside him screamed. Had he killed innocents with his stunt? Had this all been avoidable? Were the powers really taking him over? It had been so easy to let the powers take over in there, too easy. Had his slide down the slippery slope begun?

He kept his eyes on the smoke billowing up to the dark sky, wondering if he had killed another innocent without even knowing.

-o-

Dean didn't look back, not once.

He didn't want to, he didn't need to see Sam on his knees, shivering and sweating from the effort. Didn't want to remember how instinctively Sam pulled out the big guns just because his brother, who was supposed to look out for the Sasquatch, had been stupid enough to place himself exactly in the worst possible place at the worst possible time. Didn't want to think about what his brother had been forced to do, play with the thing that scared the crap out of him most of the times. The thing that might one day explode right in his face and make him something Dean wouldn't recognize.

So Dean clamped his mouth shut and drove, tires screeching as he pulled out of the industrial zone and onto the main street. Sirens flashed blue up ahead and he slowed down, not ready to get out of the car and explain why they were covered in dust and dirt, Sam's face all scratched up and his eyes still somewhere on the crazier side of I-have-demon-blood-inside-me normal.

When they finally turned onto one of the larger streets, Dean finally slowed down enough to not avoid getting pulled over for breaking the speed limit. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sam finally tear his eyes off the commotion they'd left behind and turn to watch out the windshield while tampering with the radio.

"Hey!" Dean protested, glaring at the dust covered figure. He looked really ridiculous since the sweat had plastered the dust all over him. He'd be washing out the car for that alone. "What'ya doin'?"

Sam's fingers still shivered when he turned the radio on and started looking for channels. "I just wanna hear when the news hit."

Dean looked at him with disbelief. "Huh? Want me to fill you in? I was actually right there so I have first hand info. You okay, dude? Bobby's gonna have our ass for this one since the dude who called him will know it was the Winchesters messing up his livelihood. And you wanna hear all about it on the local news?"

Sam's eyes followed the light that rushed past them. Police car, followed by a fire truck, not the biggest show to hit the road.

"I just wanna make sure no one got hurt," Sam spoke, eyes skittering from the window to Dean and back again to fixate far ahead.

All the signs of Sammy not exactly telling everything were there and this time, Dean wasn't even sure he wanted to know. Hearing angels was bad enough but being laden with unwanted, and evil powers, like currently twitchy, neurotic Sam Winchester, that was just something else all together.

"Sam, what are you not telling me?" He kept his voice even, reassuring, didn't look at Sam but kept his eyes on the road, looking for the shortest route to the highway to tail it out of this godforsaken town. Like a promise that he'd be all right with whatever Sam had cooked up in that big head of his. Knowing his brother, Dean was sure that he was guilt-tripping himself something fierce.

"Uh, nothing." Sam shrugged and turned his face to the side window. Like he was admiring the view in the pitch dark night.

Dean wanted to stop the car, drag his brother out and shake the truth out of him. Rattle every screw that had come loose inside that warehouse back into its rightful place. But he knew the bitch and it wouldn't work anyhow so he just let out a non-committal: "Uh-huh."

Then he just waited while the radio rambled on with country music and local anecdotes of the mundane kind. They drove for miles and miles and finally, Sam relented.

"I thought I saw something in there," Sam admitted. "Just for a moment there was like this shadow or something. It just kind of flashed before my eyes and then was gone. But it looked human."

Dean threw him a glace. "A vision?"

"No, just -." Sam paused, looking down on his hands. "I don't know what it was, it happened so fast. It just felt like something ominous, y'know? Like a warning. Or something, I don't know. I just wanted to hear no one got hurt."

That was the trouble with having a psychic bitch for a brother. He could scare the hell out of you just by acting strange enough to make you think he was a fry short of a Happy Meal. Or seeing stuff that nobody else did. At least when something supernatural talked to you, you pretty much got the picture even if they spoke in riddles. But Sam had been seeing things for a long time and if it didn't make sense to him, it was bad.

"Sam, nobody was inside that building, 'cept you and me and the sons of bitches."

Sam shrugged his shoulders and looked at him. "What if someone was outside when it all came down?"

"Dude, it was close to midnight in a small town industrial zone! Who'd be there? Wasn't exactly lover's lane. Place was deserted." Dean flicked the radio off, watching his bother intently before he trained his eyes back on the road ahead.

"Maybe I should call and check with the cops?" Sam piped in.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, that's a good one. You think the cops are gonna spill just like that? What you gonna say? 'Hello, I'm Sam Winchester, but don't bother checking me up since you'll probably find me wanted in three states and a suspect in a lot of unsolved, totally wacky cases and I just wanted to know if I killed someone when I blew up Mr. Gonzalez's plumbing joint?"

Sam made a protesting noise and Dean continued, in an exaggerated girly voice just to rile Sam up: "Yes sir, I swear I didn't mean to. It just kinda happened. You see, I have this demon blood and sometimes I just can't stop myself from dicking around with the powers. I just don't want anybody to get hurt. What you mean you have my cell phone location pegged? What'ya mean some nice men will come get me? Padded room with nice pills you say?"

"Shut up Dean!"

"Didn't we cause enough of a mess tonight, Sammy? Let it go already! Nobody got killed, we got out of there in one piece and you ganked the bitches. Stop second guessing yourself, it'll just drive you insane in the end."

Sam moved uneasily in his seat, trying to get the freakishly long legs straightened out. He was tense, and he wouldn't let this all go. Dean knew his brother, and the stubborn ass just needed to know or he'd have one of his emo brooding periods on top of everything else.

"Look, Sammy," Dean started, leaning back into the seat. "I'm not happy about what happened back there. You know that those powers are freaking me out, big time. But you not being the calculating mind freaks me out even more. You kind of exploded in there, just went off without even thinking. That's not, the 'research till my eyes bleed Sam' I know. And yeah, I get why you did it, I'm not a complete idiot. I was destined for the ground meat market, big time but wouldn't it have been enough just to shove me out of the way? Did you have to take on the entire shebang all by yourself? What if whatever you did, and I don't know if I even wanna know exactly what you did, would have backfired? What if I would have ended up scooping you up in a body bag?"

Sam said nothing, he just turned his face further to the side, sinking into the seat like he wanted to disappear.

Dean sighed. The trouble with talking to Sam was risking him to clam up totally. If the dude wasn't ready to spill, he just kept everything inside until something made the fuses shot-circuit. And it mostly came with one hell of a bang when it did. And all the signs of over-analyzing things to death were right there; on Sam face and in the silence that he had retreated into.

"All I'm saying is that sometimes what seems the easy way out may end up biting you in the ass in the end. Hell, you were the one to point that out to me. It's supposed to be hard, remember? I can't ever put myself in your shoes Sammy, crap, I'd never trust myself in your shoes. Just, don't beat yourself up over this. It happened, we move on and get over it, 'coz it ain't like we can do much else anyhow."

Spotting the Exxon sign in the distance, Dean changed lanes, looking at Sam in the process. He was practically able to see the wheels turning inside Sam's head when his bother cast a quick glance back at him. And Dean knew that glance. This so wasn't over.

"Call Bobby," Dean prompted, talking sense into his stubborn ass bro at this time was futile. "He'll find out and he already knows you're slightly around the bend."

When Sam made a part questioning, part argumentative face, Dean grinned. "Baby needs gas and I'm finding us a motel in the next town. You need to clean up before they arrest you for public fugliness anyhow. You look like crap, Sammy and I'm so not bailing your sorry ass outta anything tonight."

Dean was rewarded with a bitchface and it felt like a relief. Whatever was going on inside that thick head of his brother's, at least he was still the usual pain in the ass.

-o-

Sam slid out of the Impala as soon as she was filled up and Dean was on his way to get coffee from the Mini-mart. The night was starless and chilly, the darkness dispersed only by the headlights of passing cars in the distance and the neon light of the signs on the parking lot. The place was old and rundown, apparently not one of the more gainful establishments. He spotted only a few trucks parked and when even truckers avoided the place, things were bad. Which meant good for them since they so didn't need any attention, not looking like they'd just crawled up from their own graves and hadn't even had the time, or bothered to dust off. He just hoped this place wouldn't give Dean some kind of stomach flu. Knowing his brother, he was sure he'd have at least one greasy burger and wouldn't care to check the sanitation rating of the place. He'd gulf it down even if the bacon was green at the gills.

There was a dripping faucet on the wall of the building. With a look at the entrance, Sam walked over to wash his face. The water was cold and Sam shivered. Wiping his face dry with stiff fingers, Sam walked back. Eyes vigilant for any kind of anomalies.

That image, the shadow-like flash, would not leave him alone. That something, looking like a human figure trapped in a sheen of light, was something he just couldn't push to the back of his mind and forget. It felt like it was trying to tell him something.

Sam pulled his cell from his pocket.

He hated himself for doing this but he pushed the quick dial to Bobby anyhow. It was too late and Bobby would be majorly pissed off at him for various reasons. Taking the building down was not good PR for any kind of hunter.

"Sam?" Bobby answered at the second ring. "You two alright?"

"Yeah," Sam said and looked to the ground, poking at a crushed abandoned can in embarrassment. "Look, I have a favor to ask, could you please -."

Bobby snorted. "Gee, you phone me in the middle of the night to ask a favor? That's a first!"

Sam heard the relief behind the mocking tone but he still felt guilty for having Bobby do something he could as easily do himself. "I'm sorry, but things went a little too far and I kinda need you do find out if anybody got hurt." An empty paper bag blew across the asphalt and Sam jumped and let his eyes skim the parking lot. That eerie feeling of being watched didn't leave him alone. Not for a second.

"Huh?"

"Long story, just please, find out Bobby." He followed the paper bag's windy trajectory until it vanished in the darkness. When he turned back, he saw it again. It was just as fast a glimpse as before of something bluish, with a distinct human form. He went cold and his breath hitched.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice was laced with the usual accusative tone that covered worry.

"And shadows, Bobby are they what I think they are?" Sam closed his eyes and laid his palm on the roof of the Impala.

"Omens of a loved one's death?" Bobby paused and the silence was confirmation enough for Sam.

"Well, they actually occur in broad daylight too." Bobby spoke soberly. "Maybe you just got a ghost on your ass?"

The prospect of the shadow actually being a premonition had Sam's blood run a littler colder than before.

"Yeah," Sam exhaled. "Would you find out and let me know about possible victims?"

"Will do, just, watch out for your brother, and yourself 'coz you just sound -, call you back, Sam." Bobby shut the phone and Sam looked at the entrance of the Mini mart, waiting for Dean to appear.

When he finally did, Sam held his eyes on his brother, watching every step he took to gauge if he was hurt and was lying about it. If old injuries were bothering him? He looked for any sign of something not right with Dean. As suspected, Dean held a half-eaten burger in his hand, a plastic bag in his other and even from this distance, Sam could tell that he wasn't pleased with the scrutiny. Though, Dean would have to get used to being under surveillance.

When Dean stopped, toe to toe with him, he glared and poked an indignant finger hard to Sam's chest bone.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Sam extended his hand for the keys and flatly established: "I'm driving."

Dean stopped chewing and looked at him long and hard before he handed over the keys.

-o-

Dean watched, brow furrowed, while Sam took a tour around the cheap motel room, salt bag in hand. His currently twitchier than normal brother, took special care and poured salt even down the drains. Which was insane but Dean let it slide.

"Go take a shower," Sam ordered, eyes flicking yet again around the room.

It was rich, coming from the dust covered, water streaked entity, formerly known as Sam Winchester but Dean was too tired to pick a fight. He just set the plastic bag down on the desk and toed off his boots. Sam salted the window meticulously.

"You gonna be alright?" he asked before stepping into the bathroom.

Sam was standing by the window, holding the curtain at an angle to be able to watch without being seen.

"Huh?" Sam threw him a perturbed glance, like the question was out of place since he was behaving so normally.

"Just don't sit on my bed," Dean sighed. He didn't pull the door completely shut, he left a chink, just to be sure that Sam wouldn't flip completely over the edge without him hearing it.

He almost jumped at the face that met him in the mirror. The night clerk's behavior suddenly made sense. He wanted to pull out the holy water himself. Ears open for any sound from the other room, he peeled off his shirt. Sam's silence was downright eerie and his goddamned silent paranoia, or whatever, was rubbing off.

The water was hot and soothed his aching muscles and frazzled nerves. When Sam's cell rang, he shut it off and listened in, like a warden. Dean made a face at himself.

Sam kept his voice low, but Dean heard him repeat 'No victims, good'. But he didn't sound as relieved as Dean had hoped. Something else was clearly eating at his brother and who knew how long Sam would brood before he spilled. Sam didn't say much else, he just mumbled 'yeah, will do and told Bobby to take care too before he closed the phone.

Sam's secrecy had always pissed Dean off. His brother didn't do it out of malice, he just kind of thought he was sheltering people by keeping his mouth shut. Which of course, was something John had drummed into them since the beginning. And Sam had rebelled against a lot, but most of Dad's rules and regulations were still in full vigor for Dean when Sam was concerned and he recognied a lot of their Dad in Sam too.

When he got out, Sam was still standing by the window. Coat and boots still on, like he was in combat mode. The plastic bag with the salad he'd gotten for his picky brother was untouched.

Sam was seriously grating on Dean's nerves.

"What the hell, Sam? I'm not askin' you again! What's crawled up your ass?"

Sam looked genuinely surprised for a moment, then the bitchface returned and he stomped across the room to kick his boots off.

"Stay away from the window, would'ya?" Sam was the quintessential rebellious little brother when he slid out of his coat, glaring under the bangs and pouting with annoyance like he used to do when he was a kid and Dean yanked the flashlight from under the covers and ordered him to sleep and not read till his eyes fell out.. He grabbed clean clothes out of his duffel bag and without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Don't close the door!" Dean growled just as it was slammed shut on him.

"Bitch!" Dean muttered under his breath and went to the window. He looked out but there was absolutely nothing but the green sheen from the neon sign and the Impala looked safe and sound, parked under the window. Dean let his eyes roam, taking in the naked trees and the wet asphalt. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

He did put a knife, and a gun, under the pillow before he flopped onto the bed. There was a bottle of holy water in his bag by the nightstand. No creepy sons of bitches would get to them tonight.

-o-

Sam rested his face in his palms, crunching his eyes shut tight under the glare of the bathroom lamp. He heard Dean move around behind the wall. Knew exactly when his brother did what he had asked him not to; walked up to the window. Then there were steps over the floor, sounds of Dean digging in the duffel bag and then, a thud when he flopped onto the bed. Then nothing.

Maybe he was imagining things? The sensation of being watched and judged would vanish with a good night's sleep?

Fact was; he kind of wanted to stick his head in sand and never pull it out again.

Like that was ever an option for a Winchester? Sam let his hands drop and stared morosely at the yellowed and cracked porcelain of the sink. He flicked cold water on and bent in to wash his face to try and clear his head.

The shadow of his head moved. He held perfectly still and the shadow became larger, like it was creeping in on him from behind.

He whipped around, hands up, ready for battle. There was nothing behind him, only cracked tiles. His heart was beating wildly and he held his breath, listening. Everything seemed calm on the other side of the wall. Dean had flicked on the TV and the low voice of some woman was trying to sell a new kind of fantastic detergent was barely audible.

Dean flipped the channel and the drone of country music followed. Then his brother cursed rather loudly and the patented fake laughter of sitcoms took over.

Sam exhaled.

When he dropped his hands, blue ghosted over his white t-shirt. He saw it in the corner of his eye a brief instance before the same tint flashed starkly in the mirror. He turned, instinctively letting the power shoot out toward the apparition.

The mirror exploded with a bang like a gun had been fired. The power bounced back on Sam and he hit the wall hard enough to make it bend and whimper in protest. Glass shreds stung the palms of his hands and he bowed his head and lost his footing.

On his knees on the floor, Sam shielded his head from the glass and the lamp in the ceiling blinked.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

Dean heard a loud commotion in the bathroom, almost like something exploding, followed by a loud thump. A thump that shook the walls and caused dust moats to rain down on the dingy carpeting.

"Sammy!" Silence greeted his shout. Dean tried the doorknob and it wouldn't turn; Sam had locked it even though Dean had asked him to leave the door open. Figured. Lowering his shoulder, Dean applied it to the bathroom door with all the force he could muster. He was gratified when the chintzy lock splintered and the door was flung open. The forward motion of the hollow plywood door halted abruptly as it thudded against something. Sam's thigh was that something and the door had probably added a bruise to whatever other injuries his brother had just collected in the bathroom turned war zone.

His brother rested in an ungainly heap on the grungy tile floor, his legs bent beneath him as he kneeled awkwardly, head dangling limply on his bowed neck.

Eyes scanned the tiny area and once he was satisfied Sam wasn't in danger, Dean started to drop to his knees, settling for a crouch as he took in the sharp shards littering the floor. Sam hadn't been so lucky.

Silvered pieces of broken mirror protruded from the exposed skin of Sam's hands and face but that wasn't what worried Dean at the moment. It was his brother's absolute silence.

Dean gently gripped Sam's chin in one hand and levered it up so he could peer at his brother. Sam's eyes were obscured by long bangs which sparkled with residue from the shattered mirror glistening in the light that streamed through the open door. The bathroom's lights had exploded along with the mirror and there was no way Dean could make out anything but the basic shape of his brother on the floor.

With a hand at Sam's elbow, Dean pushed upward, relieved when his brother followed suit. As soon as Sam was upright his legs trembled, threatening to send him back to the floor, so Dean wound an arm around Sam's lower back, anchoring him to his side. "Come on, let's get you out of this mess."

Sam was weaving on his feet and that along with the absence of talk worried Dean. If he couldn't trust Sam to go to the bathroom by himself then things were more dire than Dean had thought and that did nothing to settle his jangling nerves.

He carefully deposited Sam on the nearest bed. This time he didn't have to pull Sam's chin up to look at his brother's eyes but when he got his first good look at Sam, he wanted to cringe. Sam's eyes were empty instead of the expressive hazel Dean had come to rely on. Empty and blank. Like Sam's mind had gone on vacation and forgotten to take his body along.

A loud knock at the door shattered the silence as surely as the mirror had shattered it a moment before. "Sir, is everything okay in there?"

Crap. Dean recognized the older woman who had checked them into their room a short while ago. The one who couldn't take her eyes off of Sam. It was creepy the way her eyes had followed him around. Sam had been unfailingly polite and patient with the woman, almost like he didn't notice. It worried Dean that Sam could be so focused on the hunt but oblivious to what amounted to a potential stalker, albeit a human one. But in their line of work, humans were often the wildcard, unpredictable and with as much capacity for evil as any supernatural being they went up against. Sam was too big hearted for his own good sometimes but that's why he had Dean around.

Dean pulled himself together. Sam was staring at the door but he didn't look like he was going to be much help at the moment. "We're okay, thanks. Just a little accident."

Two more loud raps on the door told Dean the clerk was impatient and wasn't going to be put off by some story shouted through the door. Her next words confirmed it. "Please, sir, either open the door or I'm going to have to call the police."

With a quick glance over Sam, assuring himself that his brother wouldn't fall over if he left his side, Dean moved to the door, whipping it open. The woman, her hair dyed too dark against her pale skin, barged past Dean and zeroed in on Sam. "There you are, young man. Are you okay?"

Dean was relieved to see the spark of awareness in Sam's eyes. He might be bleeding and bruised, maybe even in shock, but he could hold his own against a nosey motel clerk any day. "I'm sorry, I broke the mirror in the bathroom. It was an accident."

Almost rolling his eyes, Dean waited as the woman melted under Sam's doe eyes and wistful manner. Dean wasn't prepared when she turned on him, fire in her eyes. "You broke the mirror, or this one did?" Her attention swiveled back to Sam. "Was he trying to hurt you? I won't let anything happen to you, you can tell me." She leaned over so she was eye to eye with the seated Sam. "You remind me so much of my youngest son, Timmy. He's the spitting image of my Jackson, God rest his soul."

A shiver passed through Dean's body; he didn't know which was worse for Sam, resembling her son or her dead husband. He stood by his original assessment—creepy.

When another shiver shook his body, Dean realized he was a bit underdressed for company. His t-shirt and boxers left a little too much exposed for his liking. Apparently creepy office lady disagreed, sniping over her shoulder at him, "Get over yourself. You don't have anything I haven't seen before, young man."

When Sam stifled a snicker, Dean knew his brother was completely back with him. The motel clerk turned around to make cow eyes at Sam and his brother quickly composed his features from suppressed amusement to woeful apology. "I'm very sorry about the bathroom. I forgot to take my medication and I guess I had a seizure. I'd be happy to pay for the mirror…"

The woman had the audacity to pat Sam's denim clothed knee. "There, there, don't you trouble yourself about the mirror. But maybe I should call an ambulance for you, you look a sight."

Sam assured the clerk he was feeling better and wheedled her on her way, batting his eyelashes and alternating between shy smiles and soft sighs to accomplish the feat. Once the door closed behind her, Dean locked it and then grabbed up his jeans, stuffing his feet into them and pulling them up.

Now that his attention was focused solely on Sam, Dean could see he had quite the clean up ahead of him. He fished around in his duffle bag for the fully stocked first aid kit before returning to Sam's side. "You want to tell me what happened in there?"

Cupping Sam's jaw, Dean angled it up for better light. He grabbed the tweezers and began plucking the largest shards from Sam's face, carefully placing them in a towel. Sam's eyes were tightly closed, his mouth set in a grimace.

Dean allowed the silence to take over while he moved from Sam's face to the palms of his hands. That was where the majority of the cuts were. Fortunately the mirror hadn't done any real damage and although he didn't doubt it smarted, the wounds were superficial.

Squirting antiseptic into a cotton ball, Dean blotted at the cuts. Sam hissed at the contact but didn't draw away.

Now that Sam was fixed up, Dean wanted answers.

-0-

Sam's head and hands were throbbing so much he could barely keep himself from squirming off the bed. Dean was dabbing antiseptic on his multitude of cuts. A particularly vicious sting made Sam pull away from Dean's ministrations. Dean took this as his cue to finish up, bundling the unused supplies into the first aid kit and dumping the rest in the trash can.

Dean sunk down on to the bed across from Sam and leveled a concerned stare at him. "So you want to tell me what you've got against the mirror in the bathroom?"

Concern shifted to something akin to blatant apprehension on Dean's face and that squelched Sam's wish to spill his guts. After everything Dean had been through—the torture at the hands of Alistair and the depression that followed—Sam just couldn't bring himself to burden Dean with yet another situation. Not when things between them were still a bit fragile.

The only problem was that there was no other explanation Dean would buy. Forcing his lips into a facsimile of a smile, Sam asked, "Would you believe me if I said I slipped?"

Color suffused Dean's face and he opened and then slammed his mouth shut before rising to his feet. Towering over Sam, he crossed his arms. "Sure, you slipped on the tile and accidentally planted your head and fists in the mirror and that's how you ended up on the floor."

Sam hadn't expected Dean would buy it but he also hadn't expected the heat behind Dean's response. Feeling vulnerable as Dean loomed over him, Sam heaved himself to his feet; his body didn't like the sudden change in position and his vision grayed out for a moment.

Or maybe it was more than a moment because the next thing he knew, he was blinking up at Dean who was hovering over him, the lumpy mattress poking him in the back. "How many fingers do you see, Sammy?"

A hand was thrust so close to his face that Sam's eyes practically crossed trying to see them. That certainly wasn't going to help his headache. Sam parried the hand away with his own and levered himself up on his elbows. Dean was right back at him, prying an eyelid back as he stared into Sam's pupil. "I need to see if you have a concussion."

Enough was enough. Fingers prying and poking were making him nauseous.

Sam pushed Dean back with all his strength which at the moment wasn't much. It was enough to make his brother stagger back and when the back of Dean's legs abruptly met the other bed, he collapsed down onto it. Dean quickly jumped to his feet and scowled down at Sam who was sitting on the edge of his bed, arms crossed.

"You know combative behavior is a sign of a concussion. If you'd quit being such a princess and let me check your pupils, I'd leave you alone."

Sam was a chastised kid again. No one but Dean had that kind of power over him. Especially when he took that patient, mild tone with Sam. Dropping his head into his hands, Sam nodded his head yes in assent, head throbbing with the motion.

He knew what a concussion felt like and this wasn't it. The bigger problem was the damn shadow thing. And his powers.

Allowing himself to be prodded, Sam complied with Dean's every request to the letter. He followed Dean's finger with his eyes as his brother moved it from left to right, up and down. He let Dean shine the annoying maglight into his eyes and if he hadn't had a headache before that definitely would have caused one; a bright, precision focused shaft of light blazing into first one eye and then the other tended to have that affect. He even submitted to Dean's unique range of questions to prove he was coherent—first girl Sam had ever kissed (and don't think Sam regretted sharing that information with Dean over the years), Jimmy Paige's birthday (it's not that Sam disliked Led Zeppelin but by the time Dean was done drilling facts about the band into Sam's young, impressionable head, his excitement had waned) and the name of the president in office when Sam was born (which Sam wasn't convinced Dean knew the answer to and was tempted to give him the wrong name but with his luck he'd be wrong and his brother would haul him to the doctor).

All the while Dean was assessing him, Sam's mind was turning. Dean was used to the freaky; he'd believe Sam about the shadow. But maybe Dean would decide Sam was the freak, even be afraid of him, once he knew Sam had dismantled the mirror with his TK powers. He'd reacted instinctively, and his TK lashed out without him wanting it. He wanted to believe he could control his powers but right now, his powers seemed to have the upper hand.

Sam had to face it; he was a freak. But was he evil?

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" Dean's voice sounded young to Sam's ears. Even hurt. Dean had never taken well to anything except full disclosure when it came to Sam. Funny how his brother hadn't demanded the same of their dad; half truths and spotty explanations were status quo and perfectly acceptable. Sam liked to think that was because the brothers had a different relationship. Dean had always been the one constant in Sam's life, an absolute rock, at least until Sam had gone to Stanford.

Moistening his lips, Sam gathered himself to tell Dean what had happened in the bathroom. He owed it to his brother.

At least until Dean's hurt turned into full blown anger. "What is it with this family and keeping secrets? Fine, you don't want to tell me what happened? Then don't."

Bitter accusation flared in Dean's eyes. It was almost enough to get Sam to point out that Dean had kept one whopper of a secret and not that long ago—the one about their dad's last words to him. Last year that definitely would have been Sam's response; he couldn't stand double standards, especially when it was aimed at him. But things had changed. Dean had lost his father and hero, acquired some new talent that involved hearing conversations among the angels, and been tortured by the meanest demonic SOB they'd ever gone up against.

Sam didn't have the heart to turn this into a pissing contest. "You're right. No more secrets."

Dean's eyes bugged out of his head at Sam's words and he sunk heavily onto the bed again. Flummoxed. Like it was the first time Sam had ever told Dean he was right, at least as an adult. He scoured his mind and tried to remember—had he ever told Dean he was right?

Shaking off those thoughts, Sam concentrated on telling Dean what he really needed to know, hoping feverishly that Dean wouldn't back away from him. "Remember I told you I thought I saw something inside the warehouse? A shadow that flashed before my eyes and then was gone but looked human?"

Dean shook his head yes but his lips were already flattening in a line. Sam ignored his brother's expression, pushing on with his story. He was determined to get this out. "It happened again in the bathroom. I thought maybe the shadow was an omen of a loved one's death but Bobby suggested maybe I'd picked up a ghost. The mirror broke when the ghost—shadow—attached me. I did it."

Sam braced himself, expecting some sort of reaction—recriminations, fear, something—from Dean about the TK and the mirror. But that's not what Dean zeroed in on. His brother never lost the ability to surprise him and this time was no different. "Wait, you're telling me you talked to _Bobby_ about the shadow?"

Hurt tinged every word his brother spoke and Sam was at a loss. Sam had mentioned seeing something to Dean who had told him it was nothing at the time. Why wasn't Dean pissed off, or something, about the TK? "Um, yeah. You were getting coffee at the gas station when I called and asked him to check if anyone had been hurt when the warehouse imploded. I mentioned it to him then."

Dean's feet moved him away from the bed. Sam reached out to catch Dean's arm but was shrugged off. His brother continued to pace the small room, looking everywhere but at Sam. Sam dropped his own gaze and stared at his feet. Little shimmers caught the dull room given off by the lamp, reminding Sam that pieces of smashed mirror littered the room. And Dean wasn't wearing any shoes. "Dean, man, put some shoes on before you step on—"

"Screw the shoes! Tell me about this man in the mirror." Dean cut Sam off before he could even point there was ground up mirror all over the carpet.

Sam knew better than to argue with Dean about shoes right now. Dean had finally locked on to the shadow. Good. It was best to get it out in the open. "I saw a hint of blue, a blur really. But I had the impression it was in the shape of a man. A shadow. Just like in the warehouse."

Dean's pacing had slowed which was good because following his brother's progress was making Sam dizzy. "Let's suppose there is a shadow. Why is that a big secret? We deal with the supernatural on a daily basis so I know that isn't what's got you spooked, looking out windows, acting all paranoid."

It didn't escape Sam's notice that Dean hadn't agreed there was a shadow. Sam let it go for now. He needed to know where Dean stood on his powers. "Dean, did you hear the part where I said I blasted the mirror with my powers? What if I'm getting stronger because…"

Sam let his voice trail off as Dean walked over to the bed. "Because what? You're evil? Give me a break." Dean snorted but to Sam it didn't sound like his brother was amused. More like frustrated as his next words demonstrated. "When are you going to let that shit go, Sammy? We've been up and down that territory before and it's time to move on. You're not evil. End of story."

Sam wanted to believe. He really did. But when the power rolled over him, through him, it felt good. Like in the warehouse. Those kinds of feelings…it couldn't be good.

A hand nudged his shoulder. "Sam, quit thinking about it. And as for the shadow, we'll do a little research, get rid of it. I've got your back here, there's nothing to worry about."

Sam appreciated the sentiment on some level but it didn't make him feel any better. The words reminded him too much of Dean's attitude after his brother had told him that according to their dad, he might have to kill Sam if he couldn't save him.

Don't worry. I'll handle it. Trust me.

Sure.

Sam was over thinking everything. Again. Maybe his powers were making him crazy after all. But the tiny voice in the back of his head was telling him to keep his mouth shut. Let it go. At least around Dean.

He didn't want to be a burden. And Dean's tone and words made Sam think his brother didn't want to deal with his shit anymore. And why should he? He had his own crap to deal with.

Sam's cell phone rang and he gratefully grabbed it off of the nightstand, happy for the distraction. "Hey Bobby."

The older hunter breezed past the typical greetings, diving into the reason for the call. "Sam, listen, I need you and Dean to stop at a bookstore for me before you head this way."

It wasn't the first time Bobby had asked them to pick something up for him but Sam found the timing a little strange, what with the demonic omens and breaking of seals. Pushing off the bed, he went to his duffel bag and easily found a pen and paper. "Sure thing, Bobby. What do you need?"

Sam did his best to avoid Dean's direct stare but he wasn't oblivious to the pursed lips and deep frown Dean was shooting his way. Turning his back so Dean was no longer in his line of sight, Sam quickly scrawled the name of the book Bobby needed and where to find it.

"Oh, and I'm supposed to pass on a message from Ellen. She's in the midst of rebuilding The Roadhouse and she said you two could swing by and do some work with the construction crew, make a little legit cash if you wanted." Sam could hear the smile in Bobby's voice and wondered idly if the older man was smitten with Ellen.

Sam didn't have a crush on Ellen himself but he was drawn to her; she had a very maternal side that was at odds with her tough as nails persona and she pretty much doted on him and Dean. Sam wouldn't have minded stopping in Nebraska to see her, and make some money the legal way, but the back of his neck was heating up from the way Dean was impatiently glaring at him and he knew Dean wouldn't want to stop. Dean and Jo had some sort of love-hate thing going on and Dean wasn't eager to put himself in Jo's path anytime soon. "I don't think we can make it this time but please tell her thank you for us. We'll call when we've got the book and are headed your way."

Bobby said goodbye and broke the connection and Sam slowly closed his phone, turning back to his brother.

"Well?" Dean infused that one word with a wealth of impatience.

"Bobby asked us to swing by Kansas and pick up a book on our way back to his place. Ellen's rebuilding The Roadhouse and said we could work on the construction crew if we want to make a little cash." Sam condensed the information as much as he could, very much aware that Dean's patience was thin, at least when it came to him.

Dean rolled his eyes and some of the tension drained out of Sam; Dean wasn't upset with him anymore. "Why would I want to do hard, physical labor on a construction crew when I can hustle pool?"

Sam had given up trying to persuade Dean into making his money above board. It's not that Dean was allergic to hard work; his brother had held a multitude of jobs when Sam was a teenager, jobs that required blood and sweat and maybe even some tears, just to pay the rent and put food on the table while their dad disappeared for long stretches at a time on some hunt or another. Sam suspected Dean liked to yank his chain a little. As if Sam was some straight arrow law abiding citizen. "Never fear, I told Bobby we'd take a pass."

Sam yawned so widely his jaw cracked. Dean laughed and then was overcome by a yawn himself. "Let's get a little shut eye and then hit the road nice and early. I'll lay the salt lines and you draw some wards. Maybe we'll get lucky and that creepy clerk will be off duty when we leave."

Creepy clerk? Mrs. Johnson was really nice. A little lonely but then who wouldn't be in her situation, with her family scattered all over and her husband dead.

Already sliding out of his jeans, Dean threw a balled up sock at Sam who casually swiped it out of the air, deflecting it to the floor. "Turn off your brain, Sam. I can smell it overheating from over here."

Sam knew it was supposed to be a throwaway comment, something his brother had said to him countless times over the year, but this time it struck a chord. What if his brain overheated while he used his powers? He didn't want to think about what would happen to someone if they were standing too close to him and he lost control.

Shrugging out of his clothing, Sam hissed when his hands made contact with the material. He carefully pulled back the comforter and slid into bed. Dean appeared at his side with two tablets and a glass of water. "Tylenol. Take it and go to sleep already."

His brother had always known when he was hurting. Although after their little run in with Alistair, Dean had kept his distance. Sam didn't know exactly where they stood right now but it was definitely better then when they'd first gotten out of the hospital.

The Tylenol took the bite out of his cuts and soothed his headache. He clenched his eyes closed and waited for sleep.

If his eyes were closed, he couldn't see the shadow, right?


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

Dean had little trouble finding the main drag which housed the book store they needed. He wasn't thrilled about moving off the beaten path to retrieve this book of Bobby's, but Dean would rather run this errand then go check on The Roadhouse. Ellen was a little too maternal, too knowing. It sometimes made Dean squirm the way Ellen seemed able to pick up on his emotions. And Sam seemed to cave to her mothering far too easily; Dean didn't want to have to worry about what his brother would blurt out next to Ellen.

They didn't need to throw anyone else in the mix right now; things were definitely weird enough at the moment.

Take Sam's behavior for instance. Something was definitely up with him. For example, at this very moment Sam was doing some awkward hide and seek thing with his reflection as they walked by the storefronts.

Dean decreased his pace so he keep could tabs on Sam. It was obvious Sam was doing everything he could to stop the urge to run, arms twitching at his side, as he frowned at Dean who had fallen behind him. Sam came to a complete stop, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. "Where's the...what's the rush, Sam?"

He'd started to ask _where's the fire_ but fire and his brother were a touchy subject. For both brothers, actually: Dean had worked hard to erase the image of Sam's body smoldering on the funeral pyre but even now, months after Sam had died in his arms, the mere thought made Dean's body twitch. That's why he was trying hard not to jump on Sam's back about his freaky behavior. Sam was obviously trying to work through some issue or another and it hurt, at least a little, which he wouldn't spill to Dean. But then again watching Sam do his little dance to avoid his reflection was pretty darn amusing, especially on a day that had Dean bored nearly to tears.

Sam tried to maneuver so that Dean was closest to the storefronts, massive windows that reflected images so clearly they could double as mirrors.

Mirrors.

Sam had definitely tangled with the mirror back at their motel room, although Dean had a hard time believing Sam had duked and juked like he was now before he'd taken it out. There was a certain smoothness to Sam's movements as he tried, and failed, to avoid catching glimpses of himself as they walked down the sidewalk.

Dean slowed enough so that he was a couple of paces behind Sam. Sam, who was glancing to his right at the storefront window, and then throwing up his right hand to screen his face. Sam realized Dean had fallen behind and stopped walking, hands on hip, lips pulled into a pout.

Ignoring Sam's stance, Dean continued walking at his leisurely pace. The breeze blew lightly and pushed Sam's bangs into his face. Instead of shaking his hair, or even pushing it back, Sam let his hair obscure his face. Which was really funny when he bull dozed into a hot chick, the woman staggering back a step and only saved from hitting the cement sidewalk by Sam's quick reflexes. Of course hot chick's hostile expression at almost being flattened quickly melted into an encouraging smile once she got a look at Dean's little brother.

Sam was a total chick magnet and he was totally clueless. It used to be that Sam only attracted the maternal type—the kind who liked to pinch cheeks and bake cookies from scratch—but more and more lately the opposite sex was eying up Sam like he was desert and they wanted to pinch more than his cheeks. Dean had been aware of beautiful girls since the eighth grade, and vice versa, so watching his late blooming brother was a riot. Especially since Sam didn't seem to know what to do with the women with long, wavy dark hair and curves in all the right places who stared at him blatantly.

Dean wondered what Sam had been like in college when it came to girls. He had a hunch Jessica had been the aggressor in that relationship. Dean didn't like to put much thought into Sam being at college or Jessica's death. The former made Dean melancholy and the latter depressed Sam. Dean preferred to focus on happier things at the moment. Like watching Sam stammer his apologies (what happened to his college educated brother with a gift for gab that made him a sure bet in his chosen field, law) as the hot chick scrawled her phone number on the palm of Sam's hand.

Grabbing Sam's upper arm, Dean steered him away from the brunette and down the sidewalk, ignoring the pout on her face. The store they wanted, Biblioteca Oblique, was the next block and as much as watching Sam's antics were amusing the hell out of him, Dean also wanted to get Bobby's damn book and get on the road while it was still light outside.

They entered the exceedingly poorly lit store and approached the desk across from the entrance where an older, balding man stared at a huge, blocky computer monitor while the hard drive whirred and wheezed in the background. The man looked up and frowned at them. "Just a moment, please. I'm trying to enter this transaction before the computer crashes."

Dean's eyes roamed around the store, dismayed at how small the place was. Where were all of the books? There were two bookcases and that was it. The smell permeating the place was one of mildew and decay. Dean's nose twitched as he tried to stave off a sneeze.

"Thanks for waiting. How may I help you?" The disheveled man said, pushing his ungainly girth to his feet.

Silence greeted his question and Dean turned to Sam, whose eyes were turned toward the ceiling. Dean elbowed Sam in the side, relishing in the whoosh of air that left Sam's solar plexus. "Please tell the man what Bobby needs, would ya?"

Sam's eyes focused on the man and he cleared his throat. "We're here for The Alphabetum Dia—"

"Diaboli by Joannes Ness. Yes, Robert said two of his young friends would stop by for it. If you'd like to follow me, I'll get it from the back room…" Dean didn't really want to follow the man who vaguely resembled Uncle Fester from the Adams Family but he nodded to Sam and they followed the shorter man through the door behind him.

Fester was throwing out phrases like "extremely scarce" and "profound knowledge of demonology" and Dean understood why Bobby had asked them to swing by; demons seemed to be the soup du jour right along with the angels.

Sam at least had recovered his geeky composure and queried the man, "So this is the one with the vellum binding and blindstamped decorations?"

_Blindstamped decorations?_ Whatever the hell that was.

But Fester spoke Sam's language and nearly fell into paroxysms of delight. "Yes, yes, and the title page has a wonderful engraving of hell. But best of all, it contains a strange undated handwritten paper. Some speculate it's an exorcism."

Dean waited for the man to rub his hands together in fiendish delight and cackle but instead he went to a safe and, shielded from their view, punched in the code. Withdrawing an ancient looking tome, he brushed the cover fondly before holding it out. Dean reached out to take it but Fester put it into Sam's geeky hands instead. Sam's expression was every bit as rapt as Fester's.

Boys and their toys. Dean rolled his eyes but knew he'd be the same if Bobby asked him to pick up a weapon for him.

The three walked back toward the desk, Fester prattling about wrapping the book for safe keeping and murmuring about "curious occult treatise on the manifestations of devils in our world." Dean had had enough of the demon talk and was ready to head out.

Sam had other ideas. Feet planted, his brother was staring at the ceiling again. Eyes rising, Dean saw a cheesy silver globe suspended which made him think of Saturday Night Fever and discotheques. But it wasn't a disco ball; instead it was a security mirror that allowed a three-sixty degree view of the store, such as it was. Maybe Sam was horrified at the thought of a disco.

Enough was enough. Sam's face was flushed, his eyes a little glazed. Dean hoped his brother wasn't coming down with something; nothing sucked like a sick little brother. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Stay here. I'm gonna pull the car out front."

Dean didn't wait to hear the squeal of unfairness he felt certain would be brewing in Sam over being ordered to stay put. He bolted into the fresh air and hurried down the sidewalk. He couldn't wait to get Sam and The Devil's Alphabet back to Bobby's.

-0-

The day hadn't been particularly arduous but Sam was bone tired. Riding in the car, jumping at imaginary shadows and picking up Bobby's book had worn him out.

Bobby had been thrilled with The Alphabetum Diaboli and seemed equally pleased to see him and Dean. He'd popped a frozen pizza in the oven and broken out the Miller Genuine Draft. One bottle later and Sam couldn't keep his eyes open.

He might be tired but he wasn't stupid. Nor was he blind to the way Bobby and Dean shot each other worried looks over Bobby's kitchen table. Smothering another yawn, Sam rose to his feet. "I think I'm gonna turn in now. Thanks for dinner, Bobby. Good night."

Sam ought to be pleased that Dean and Bobby didn't try to whisper. He just wished they could've waited until he made it upstairs before they started to dissect him.

"What's up with the kid? I thought he was feeling better…"

"Those damn powers of his…didn't you see the cuts on his face and hands?"

Sam compelled his feet to move, in no mood to find out what else his brother and his friend thought of him. He dragged himself upstairs and brushed his teeth, the mint flavor mingling with the beer taste in his mouth almost enough to make him vomit, eyes studiously avoiding the mirror.

He hadn't seen any hint of the shadow today, despite searching for it, and now that he wanted to stretch out, he'd like to keep the streak alive. Shedding his clothes, he pulled on flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Settled on the lumpy, single mattress, body exhausted, yet Sam's brain wouldn't turn off.

The last time Sam'd read in bed, he and Dean had ended up on a trip to Dean's future, courtesy of the Ghost of Future Yet to Come. Actually more like courtesy of the trickster, but still, Sam wasn't ready to try it again. And thinking of the trickster wasn't going to help him sleep.

Clearing his mind, Sam concentrated on relaxing his toes, his ankles and then his knees. Breathing deeply in, breathing deeply out…

A noise startled Sam and he bolted upright in bed.

Only he wasn't sitting up in bed, he was standing next to the bed. Watching himself sleep. His transparent self; he could see the navy blue blanket on the bed through his recumbent body. Almost like a shadow.

_I'm insane_. There was no other explanation as far as Sam is concerned.

"A bit of a drama queen, aren't you? Relax. You're not going crazy. It's just me. I'm a part of you. You're just sticking your head in the old sand again. Like always. Didn't work out so well before, did it? What makes you think it will this time around? Bang up job you're doing here, Samuel. Denial is it, huh? That little nagging thing in the back of your head, or in your case - flagging its arms right in your face - not gonna shut up before you face it. Not gonna just fade away, and that's a promise."

The whisper was sibilant, setting Sam's teeth on edge. His temper ignited, smoldering. "Leave me the hell alone."

In his mind the words had been forceful; spoken aloud they sounded indecisive.

"Remember what you did in the warehouse? That's what I would've done. Win the battle and forget the war."

Sam clapped his hands over his ears but the taunting whisper wouldn't leave him alone. "I'm the dark side of your nature. You've rejected me, repressed me, but guess what? I'm not going anywhere."

Strong hands ripped his hands away from his ears. Under Sam's breath he chanted, "No, leave me alone." Over and over.

But no, the shadow was in his face. He clenched his eyelids closed but the words didn't stop. "You know what you have to do. Face yourself. All of you. Otherwise I'm just going to take control and then where will you be?"

Rough hands shook Sam. "Enough already. Open your eyes. Sam?"

Sam's eyes flew open at the raw concern in Dean's voice. Dean was shaking him. Dean's eyes were wide, his features pale in the dim glow of the small lamp on the nightstand between the beds.

Sam was sitting up in bed. Not standing next to it.

His head whipped around, seeking out every crevice and corner in the room.

No shadow.

The tension fled his body, leaving him drained. Dean's tight hold on his arms eased. "Are you okay, Sam?"

Sam. Not Sammy. He was pushing Dean's patience and he couldn't blame his brother at all. He was a wreck, awake or dreaming.

Dean was perched on the edge of his bed, hair sleep rumpled, eyes tired. "You were sitting on the bed, talking to yourself. And it didn't sound like it was a friendly conversation. What's going on with you?"

Sam's eyes dropped to stare at his hands fidgeting on top of the blanket. "I guess I was dreaming…there was something in the room and…"

The intense scrutiny was getting to him and Sam swung his legs off the bed, climbing to his feet. Dean had to get up to let Sam pass in the cluttered room. "Sam, it's okay. It was just a dream. There's nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about. Nothing except shadows and his incipient insanity. "I need a…go downstairs…sorry I woke you…"

Sam was out of the room before Dean could call him back. He made his way to the kitchen where he found what amounted to half a cup of coffee in the pot, so strong it could probably double as paint stripper. Sam heated it quickly in the microwave before sinking into a chair at the table.

Cradling his head in one hand, Sam sipped the strong brew.

He needed a plan. A plan to the kill the shadow, end this once and for all. It's not necessarily a rational plan but at three thirty in the morning he didn't have anything that met the definition of rational.

Sam knew he'd either lost his mind or something was haunting him. It was easier to deal with something haunting him and with that decision made, he moved into the living room to find his laptop. He wanted to make sure he was armed with whatever knowledge he could muster for the next time he meets the whispering shadow.

-0-

Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about Sam. His brother had the look of someone seriously sleep deprived and his behavior—detached and vague—matched the look. "Come on, Sam, Bobby said he needed some stuff from in town. Why don't you and me make a supply run?"

Sam's legs were crossed Indian style on the couch, laptop perched precariously. Sam nodded his head in agreement but didn't stop the keystrokes, his fingers tapping away.

"Sam?" His voice was louder that time and punched through the haze surrounding his brother.

Sam ground the heel of his hand into one of his eye's before closing the laptop and setting it aside. "Sure. Let's go."

It was like Sam was here, going through the motions, but he wasn't really here. First he'd done his freaky sidewalk show on the way to the bookstore, then he'd practically fallen asleep over pizza and beer, followed by a nightmare complete with arguing with himself that made Sybil look like a mild case of split personality in comparison.

Dean didn't know what Sam needed but he'd start by getting him outside for some fresh air. After grabbing the list from the kitchen table, Dean waited for Sam to unfold himself from the couch. He had to hand it to Sam, for a big guy he was flexible, but Dean didn't think his brother was meant to bend that way.

The sunlight glistened off the black paint job and Dean thought maybe he'd wash his pride and joy when they got back from town. Sam muffled a yawn with his hand and Dean thought maybe the wash job would have to wait. Dean planned on sticking close to Sam today and it looked like a nap was on the afternoon agenda.

They cruised down the little used two lane highway and Dean let the Impala stretch her legs. He thought about turning on the radio but maybe Sam would doze in the car. He'd certainly done that when he was a kid. He chanced a glance at Sam and found him frowning in the side mirror. "Problem?"

Sam startled, guiltily. "What? No."

Dean wanted to press Sam but his brother was pretty ragged at the moment. Ragged and twitchy. His shoulders kept bunching and unbunching and the kid's knee jangled up and down, no easy feat in the confined area beneath the dashboard.

The sun played hide and seek with a cloud and Dean tried to enjoy the ride. The sun made its way from behind the cloud, dazzling Dean with its brilliance.

"Look out!"

Sam's panicked voice caused Dean's foot to hit the brake. He expected to see an animal perched on the side of the road, ready to leap out.

Nothing.

Except Sam contorting in the passenger seat, face white and eyes wide. Sam's arm jerked out and static electricity filled the enclosed spaced.

The steering wheel locked in Dean's hands and the Impala went into an uncontrolled skid. Dean tried pumping the brakes but the vehicle wasn't responding. The smell of hot wires and burnt plastic filled Dean's nostrils as the car bucked and jerked under his hands.

Dean's heart thundered as the Impala's skids tugged violently at the steering-wheel. The brakes squealed and he tensed his body to keep the car on the road. Sam's hand was on the steering wheel, aiding him but all Dean saw was Sam's head dangerously close to the windshield. If they went over, he might end up with his fucking stupid brother's head coming loose and landing in his lap.

He finally managed to slow the car down enough to steer it to the shoulder and stop. Taking a deep breath he loosened his fingers from the wheel and looked at his stupid ass brother who was lucky he still had a head on his shoulder and not rolling on the asphalt.

Sam's face was white from shock and his lips were a thin line that barely moved when he asked: "You ok?"

Dean slapped him over the head. Hard. "What the hell, Sam?"

The regret was immediate at Sam's reaction. It wasn't what Dean had expected. Sam flinching, arms coming up as if he expected more abuse and then the frantic grappling for the door-handle and the 'M'so s'rry' before he scrambled out the door in such a haste that he almost face-planted and had to sustain himself on his palms before he got back enough momentum to right himself up.

Dean followed the staggering gait to the side of the road while the guilt tore at him.

Sam dropped to his knees, stomach rejecting and spewing what little contents it held.

Dean got out of the car, not even minding that usually the sight of someone else vomiting was enough to make his stomach roil. Still slightly shaky on his legs, he approached Sam and squatted right by his side, trying not to join in with Sam's retching.

"I don't think this road side needs more fertilizing, Sammy," he quipped.

When Sam showed no signs of letting up, Dean put his hand on his back, rubbing lightly

Sam sat back on his heels. "I almost killed you…I can't believe…never meant…God, Dean…how can you trust me?"

So Sam had used his powers. The raised arm, static electricity and burnt smell in the car had tipped Dean off but until Sam had confessed, he hadn't known for sure.

This was the tricky part. Dean got to hear angels, and sure, it was confusing and made him doubt his sanity. But Sam's powers were dangerous. The damage Sam could do, even unintentionally, was staggering. Dean couldn't really begin to understand how Sam felt but he knew one thing—Sam wasn't alone in this.

Dean moved his hand to the back of Sam's neck and gave it a squeeze. "Sam, you're the strongest person I know. You can do this. You're in charge of your powers, not the other way around."

More than anything, Dean wanted to know what had set Sam off in the car. But now wasn't the time.

Sam's shoulders sagged and he took some deep breaths. He eased himself to a standing position, straightening his posture, standing tall. When he turned to face Dean, his face was blotchy and snot still ran from a nostril. Sam's throat was filled with phlegm as he spit out a terse, "Gross."

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a bandana and a pack of gum. He threw them up in the air and watched Sam snatch them deftly. "Clean yourself up. I want to make it into town and back by sundown."

Sam tried to smile but it faltered and died. The gratitude in his eyes stood firm.

-0-

Sam couldn't believe he'd almost crashed the Impala. Dean could've died.

He walked through the grocery store, never letting his brother out of his sight. Seeing Dean, having proof that he was living and breathing was the only thing keeping Sam from dissolving in a puddle on the floor.

Dean hadn't laid into him either which made Sam feel all the guiltier. Dean thought Sam was in charge of his powers. He couldn't even convince himself of that right now.

They turned the corner of the aisle and Sam saw the metal refrigerated cases gleaming at him. His eyes skittered away but not before he caught sight of something. A blur of movement.

Sam was so busy not looking at the refrigerated cases that he plowed into Dean's back. His brother whirled around, took one look at Sam's face, and didn't say a word. But he did physically take Sam by the shoulders and move him to t he cart, even going so far as to curl his fingers around the handle. With a slight push to the middle of Sam's back, he and the cart were propelled softly forward.

He'd never realized how hard it was navigate when you weren't looking where you were going. He almost clipped a display full of cans in his efforts to avoid the shadow and Dean didn't say a word; he just curled his hand around the cart handle so they were both pushing the cart.

At some point in the not so distant past, Sam would've been worried about how this looked. Two guys, big guys, simultaneously pushing a cart down the aisles. But having Dean next to him was doing a world of good for Sam's nerves. The shaking had almost ceased and he could breathe normally, without shuddering.

They made it through the check out and outside without incident. That's when Sam's luck turned for the worst.

The shadow, not just a blur or a movement out of the corner of his eye, but the image of himself, faded and dark around the edges, was waiting for him in the parking lot. Sneering at him. Waving him over.

Sam abandoned the cart and stepped forward, intent on catching the shadow. A horn blared and Sam found himself airborne, his head cracking painfully against the cement.

"He's okay, thanks for your concern. Sorry he scared you like that. He's a little slow, if you know what I mean. We've got it." Dean's voice was babbling in the background and the other voices dissipated gradually.

Sam kept his eyes tightly closed, willing his heartbeat to slow down, his head to stop throbbing.

"Hey, you are okay, right?"

As much as Sam wanted to stay curled in a tight ball on the ground, he couldn't do that to Dean. He pushed himself over and sat up to find Dean sitting on the back of his heels.

Their shopping cart was on its side, contents spread far and wide.

Dean reached forward and pushed Sam's bangs out of his face, ignoring his flinch, wincing at the scrape and bruise Sam could feel blossoming there. Sam knew he was lucky that only the cart had been upended. He very easily could've been splatted across the parking lot.

Dean stood up and extended a hand. "Come on, let's get you settled in the car."

Sam's hand was ensconced in Dean's sure grip and he easily hauled Sam to his feet. The world spun lazily for one rotation and then righted itself. By that time Dean had snaked an arm around Sam's middle and guided him toward the parked car. "What about the groceries?"

His brother actually smiled at the question and Sam was pleased to see the lines of worry ease on his face. "I think I'll handle the cart if it's all the same to you."

Sam allowed himself to be bundled into the passenger seat without protest. He watched Dean tip the cart back on its wheels and gather up their purchases. When Dean flashed a concerned look at Sam on his way to the car, Sam managed a feeble smile and small wave.

All the while his brain was stuck on one thing and one thing only…he had to either ice the shadow or find a way to live with it.

He couldn't risk Dean's, or anyone's life for that matter, and that meant getting gaining the upper hand. And fast.


	4. Chapter 4

PART FOUR

Dean knew Sam would forever battle his inner demons. He also knew that those were all in his brother's thick head. And that was the part that Dean really hated; Sam would always be alone in a way that broke Dean's heart.

Watching him now, bent over a thick book in the dusk, searching for answers that probably no-one would ever find, was so Sam, so what his brother had always been about, understanding, and it was what was currently eating him alive. It was written all over him, if you knew how to look. At least Sam had stopped jumping at every little thing. And stopped throwing himself in front of cars in grocery store parking lots. Dean had made damn sure of that.

Dean sighed and made his way through the piles of books on the floor. Placing the coffee mug right under Sam's nose, he sat down in the chair besides the desk Sam was hovering over.

"Ellen called," Dean spoke when Sam looked up, bleary eyed. "A hunter ended his ass in hospital. We gotta go check this thing out."

Sam leaned back in his chair, fixating Dean with interest.

"A bunch of teens have been playing around with summonings and are in deep shit. Ellen's there right now, trying to make sense of the mess. A lot of snotty nosed, over-confident brats seem affected by something and she wants help." Dean stretched his legs out; he was so ready to get back on the road and cause some harm to the sons of bitches.

"Summoned what?" Sam asked. "You thinking witchcraft gone wrong?"

"Bobby's checking it out and Ellen's been trying to talk to the nitwits but you know parents, always thinking their Susie is clean as a whistle. Could be anything. Guess we need to go there and find out. Ellen said the hunter got whacked from behind and doesn't remember how he even got there. He's messed up, dude. Cops had dogs looking for the teens and found him close by, totally out of commission. I think they are suspecting he's bringing all the crazy. Get your gear together, we're leaving as soon as Bobby wraps things up his end."

"Wait, where is this going on, exactly?"

Dean rose to his feet, barely containing himself at the prospect. "Rosebud. Dude, it's only a couple of hours away and I can't wait to gank some bitches."

"Indian territory?" Sam looked up at him. "Shouldn't we - ?"

"Cowboy up, dude!" Dean grinned and boxed Sam's shoulder. This was something that would finally force Sam out of the funk he'd been in lately.

"And by the way, you're snoozing in the back-seat on our way there. You look like crap warmed over."

Sam's reply consisted of a bitchface and in Dean's book, that was just fine and dandy.

-o-

It was 4 AM when Dean parked the Impala by Ellen's truck, hidden behind trees, out of sight from the road. The drive had taken them longer than expected, the road being slippery and Sam kind of hoped the trip would turn out a waste of time. Maybe it was just some kids doing their own version of The Blair Witch Project.

Sam got out of the backseat and stretched his legs, smiling a reply to Ellen's salute. All his senses were acutely aware of possible bluish shadows lurking in the dark. He'd stay back as much as possible during this hunt, he would not risk anything this time. His concentration was off; he was off and he knew it.

The night was chilly and Sam leaned up against the Impala while Ellen briefed them, telling them about a sacrificial altar in the middle of the woods. She was still waiting for more hunters to show up and give them a hand – the plan was to fence the teens in and stop the witchcraft, or whatever was going on. It was pretty much more of an investigative mission than an actual hunt. The moment they knew what was going on, they'd stop it with the necessary means.

Two more cars rolled up the narrow, winding dirt road and they were presented briefly to three more hunters. They were practically an army at this point and Sam relaxed.

They readied themselves silently; packing salt and rifles into their duffel-bags. One of the hunters was a witchcraft expert and he had his own arsenal. They were all set. The stillness of the night was eerie, no sounds were heard and the moon sailed over the sky, peaking out behind thick clouds on occasion. Ellen took the lead and they all followed in silence, Sam last in line, knowing that Dean would kill him if he knew that he was being kept under surveillance.

Still, anything bluish coming even near Dean would have Sam dip into the dark inside him, regardless the consequences. Dean would probably hate him forever but that was the price Sam was willing to pay at this point. He'd watched Jess burn on the ceiling, that was enough for him.

He almost toppled over Dean when the latter stopped dead in his tracks.

Sam pulled himself back to reality, following the line of Dean's stare. There was only darkness ahead but in the distance, a choir of voices formed a melody.

Nobody spoke; they all stood frozen, trying to capture the words.

A chill ran down Sam's spine when he caught a phrase: "Una nos precā́mus deus malum et bellum."

"They're summoning gods of war and evil, the idjits? How did they get there? I thought there was just one way in?" Bobby voice was terse.

"They must have some short-cut," one of the hunters piped in. "We better get there and fast before the kids really get themselves in too deep."

The moon lit up the path and they all started running, spreading out over the frozen terrain and ducking the low-hung branches.

Sam stayed behind Dean, contrary to direct orders of dispersing as wide as possible to get the jump on the kids. There was this fear spreading throughout him and he had to concentrate on actually breathing while running toward the sound that grew louder and clearer with every step. The words now sharp knives, cutting right through him and the coldness of the night was like an infusion of pure fear in open wounds.

Then he spotted the orange glow in the night; fires reaching for the sky.

-o-

Dean slowed down when he spotted the light from five small fires around a flat rock. Gripping Sam's sleeve, he pulled him behind a tree trunk. Both their breaths ran harsh and Dean had no idea where the rest of the hunters had ended up.

The scene before him was absurd. The dancing figures were shadowy blips in the dark, the melody stronger, carried by girly voices. The words of death and destruction clashed with the soft melody. It was totally sickening to listen to. The teens were clad in normal clothes but their movements were too light, like they were dancing in the air. Or maybe it was just an optical illusion?

He tugged on Sam's sleeve, prompting him forward. They needed to salt a circle and the smaller they managed to get it, the better. The fricken salt was heavy to carry and they didn't have enough to salt the entire wood.

The clearing was small and when he got to the last row of sheltering trees around it, he let go of Sam's sleeve and went for the salt. He witnessed movement to his left and knew the others had arrived and were ready for combat.

As Dean ripped the salt bag open, and cast a glance at this brother, he momentarily froze and was unable to do anything but watch as the scene unraveled before his eyes.

One of the dancing fairies, or whatever, had stopped and looked at Sam standing there, smack in the moonlight. The entire choir shushed at the sight and a few bowed their heads in something that reminded Dean of admiration. The eyes of the young girl were trained on Sam and they were pitch black. She started to move toward Sam, slowly and with a sick smile on her lips.

That's when Dean snapped out of his daze and moved to shove Sam out of the way. He never got that far since one of the hunters was flung up against a tall fir and reality dawned on Dean. They were in over their heads.

Bobby started reciting an exorcism and the clearing exploded with light and movement.

The wall of bright light was moving rapidly toward Dean, robbing him of breath and he found himself pinned to the ground.

'Sam!' flashed though his mind before everything paused to then proceed in slo-mo like a goddamned movie. Dean's fingers dug into the ground beneath him.

-o-

When the young girl's black eyes turned to his, Sam's mind went into overdrive. He knew there were too many demons to fight with traditional means, knew some of them probably were potent enough to kill every one of them. The powers inside him screamed to be let loose but he held back. Because there were hunters. Hunters had a mindset of black and white and if he exposed himself as not entirely human, he'd be hunted, like any other freak. That shadow would cast onto Dean, and maybe even Bobby and Ellen. There was no telling what would come of it. When a demon slung one of the hunters against a tree, all he did was lessen the impact enough to avoid the hunter getting injured. Then Bobby went down.

It was when Dean was flung to the ground and the burning light was let loose that he finally let his powers unleash. It felt like a tidal wave running through him, strong and unstoppable, like all his synapses fired off at once.

He stopped the light before it reached his brother, then he pressed it steadily back while holding the demons energies locked inside their vessels. They answered with directing their rage at him, battling him with all their might and Sam felt the taste of blood in his mouth while his heart thundered inside his chest. The demons screamed and he closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping their forces from injuring the hunters and if only possible, save the possessed girls. There were just so many battling wills, so many forces pulling at him, trying to break his concentration enough to break loose and get back at them. He'd thought that four Poltergeists were strong, but they had been nothing compared to the force he now was up against. But what scared him most of all was the sensation in his spine; the promise of so much more power, battling to be set free. He felt it increase inside him, tingling his nerve-endings, hardening his muscles to full-on combat mode. And somehow he just knew that if he let his control slip, he'd never be the same.

His voice was shaky and raw when he started reciting the exorcism.

When Bobby's voice added volume and conviction to the exorcism and Dean's fell in on cue, tears of relief sprang into Sam's eyes and he got renewed strength.

The ball of light rose to the sky, muting into a bleak ember as the black billowing smoke followed, rattling the trees and releasing a wind strong enough to bring Sam to his knees. He fought for breath, swallowed down blood and when Dean's jean clad leg appeared at his side, he gripped the fabric and looked up at his brother.

Dean was looking down at him, face blurred from Sam's tears. The sensation of invincibility had morphed into a headache, the strength he'd felt just seconds ago had been substituted with shame. Because he'd succumbed to the powers once again. It was getting easier and easier to use them as the last resort, as a crutch carrying him right down the dark path. Dean believing he wasn't on the road to becoming evil wasn't enough to convince Sam. He felt the powers' lure, felt what they did to him, how they took his fears and blinded him.

"What the hell?" Someone asked in the distance and someone else let out a low appreciative whistle.

"Demons? I haven't seen that many of them one by one during my thirty years of hunting and now there's a freaking army of them right under my nose?"

Sam recognized the voice of the hunter he'd figured was the oldest of the lot. That was something admirable on its own. Surviving this job. He wondered if he'd be the next scalp on the hunter's belt.

"Everyone okay?" Ellen asked, her flashlight illuminating Dean's face.

Sam swallowed thickly, his eyes locked with Dean's.

Dean crouched beside him and wiped his chin. The hand came away read with blood. "Dude, gross! Yeah, Ellen, Sam and me are good. A little nosebleed s'all. How about the possessed chicks?"

"I see some of them coming to, think we saved a few." Bobby spoke. "'Course, breathing doesn't mean their heads won't be totally messed up, but it's som'thin'."

Sam let his head fall and pulled in much needed air. Dean grabbed at Sam's coat and held on. "We're just fine, Sammy," he repeated quietly in a reassuring voice.

Sam relaxed and let Dean steady him while he slowly pulled himself up to his feet.

-o-

There was a general commotion when the girls started waking up as dawn finally broke. Ellen snatched one of the girls' cell phones and called the authorities before she hurried back over to Sam and Dean. Taking a long look at both of them, she rested her hand on Sam's arm, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"You did good."

Dean huffed. "Just a little late in the game there, bro. The bitches almost had me while you were standing there making googoo eyes with one of them. Next time, skip the flirting and get on with it!"

Sam shuddered and Dean took a steadier grip on his brother's coat. Sam was shivering slightly and still breathing heavily. It wasn't until Dean took a closer look, in the light of Ellen's flashlight, that he noticed Sam was soaked with sweat.

Ellen and his eyes met.

"I gotta get Sam back to the car, I think the princess is going into shock or something. You good keeping an eye on this?"

Ellen nodded, her concerned eyes flicking back to Sam. "Yeah, get going, I'll tell Bobby to get the bags and come after you. Crank the heat up all the way, Dean!"

"I'm still here and I'm fine!" Sam was looking anywhere but at the two standing right by him. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to wait that long. Didn't want to -."

"Oh, here we go," Dean cut him off. "The emo bitching is back. C'mon Sasquatch, you can brood in the car. My baby is used to it by now."

He pulled Sam along, hoping that the physical movement would stop Sam from keeling over and becoming a popsicle. The prospect of hauling him, frozen stiff, back to the car wasn't tempting at all.

The wind had picked up and they walked swiftly, ducking for branches and Sam occasionally stumbling on his own feet. Dean just couldn't help asking all the same: "Sam? Why did you hesitate?"

Sam just looked apologetically at him. "I-I'm s-s'rry."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you are but I still wanna know why? I mean we were almost toast back there and all of us would have been if you hadn't pulled out your mojo. It was a clear OK Corral situation back there and all of a sudden you have to stop and think before you shoot?"

Dean knew his thank you speech sucked but this was the way he had always done it. He ranted on his brother to let him know what he really meant. Sam did understand it, of that Dean was sure. A little ribbing as the preferable MO when it came to possible chick-flicky moments of thank you's and stuff. And Sam had hesitated back there. Not that Dean could actually blame him - it was digging into the unknown and Dean knew it freaked Sam out. But considering how Sam had gone off for much less earlier, it was just very bad timing for deep philosophical thoughts.

Sam didn't answer and Dean relented, spotting the Impala's well-polished chrome about 50 feet away. No use trying to get the bitch to talk right now. His teeth were clattering enough to make whatever he said incomprehensible anyway.

Dean heard Bobby catching up with them, which only went to show how wobbly Sam was at the moment. Arriving at the car, Dean just looked at Bobby and the older man read him right. He stuffed the bags in the trunk and pulled out the blanket and a less than clean but at least dry, hoodie for Sam. Then he walked over to the passenger side and ordered Sam to get the coat and wet shirts off before they'd have to use an ice scrape to peel him off the passenger seat once they got back to Bobby's place. Dean started the car and cracked the heat up to max while Bobby pulled out a flask of cheap whiskey, the standard cure for almost anything, and handed it to Sam.

Sam looked miffed about the fussing but he obeyed and took a long swig before he wriggled out of his wet shirts.

Dean smiled at Bobby in the rear-view mirror; he hadn't missed the reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder.

It was still there when Bobby prompted Sam to down the damned whiskey and Dean backed out to turn the Impala around and hit the icy road.

-o-

By the time they pulled up on Bobby's yard, Sam was soaked with sweat. The hoodie stuck to his skin and Dean was suspiciously red-faced and antsy. Even Bobby was complaining and had finally succumbed to opening the side-window despite Dean's protests.

Dean had gone a little over-board with heating up his baby. Sam's pleas for less had been totally disregarded. And he was definitely woozy from all the booze Bobby had urged him to ingest. To avoid a cold, was the apparent unanimous reason for the insanity. Sam suspected there was more to it than that. Like having him loosen his tongue and spill about why he had waited until they were almost toast before he finally reacted adequately to the situation. He should have reacted earlier, there was no sense in risking their lives like he had. There was just no trusting him right at this moment. He was totally losing control.

It wasn't just the freaking shadow that followed and mocked him, there was so much more to ponder on. He'd had to make a decision to possibly kill at least a dozen young girls with his devilish powers. Those young girls had been possessed and he knew far too well what that entailed. Your body being used at the hands of evil screwed with your head, big time. The things he had done while under Meg's control would haunt him forever. He'd murdered another hunter. The prospect of killing a horde of young girls was everything but appealing at the time. Exposing himself as the freak he was, risking Dean's reputation was another thing that figured into the decision. But the absolute killer was that he thought he recognized Meg in the teen looking at him. How far gone was he if he recognized demons? The fact that he really didn't know nearly enough about what was inside of him had him freaking out, big time. The memories of Ava, a woman who was ready to tie the knot and live a perfectly normal life, to then turn into a serial-killer thanks to the same blood he had running in his veins had his stomach ready to revolt. There was no telling when his use of the powers would forever change him. He didn't want this kind of power, didn't need the responsibility any kind of power brought along. He wanted to be normal; not a threat to anyone around him. Just thinking about it, the blood inside him, the peril he was to people, made him feel queasy.

"Oh Sammy, don't puke on my baby! How much did you give him, Bobby? You know he's a lightweight when it comes to the hard stuff!"

Dean's hands were tugging at him, trying to get him out of the car. Sam groaned and turned, fighting to control his booze-anesthetized legs. The sun broke through the clouds and even that bleak gleam was enough for him to close his eyes and lay his head on the roof of the Impala.

Dean laughed behind him. "Bobby, I think he needs about a gallon of your strongest brew. No diluted fancy milky-latte crap. Gotta sober the bitch up before he hits the sack. You have no idea what a pain he is hungover."

Sam decided he'd rather stay right here instead of walking away to avoid being the brunt of all jokes he just knew were coming.

"He barely drank a third of the bottle!" Bobby declared. "How comes he's this out if it?"

Dean chuckled. "Since all he's eaten today is a tomato-salad? I swear, the dude's a girl when it comes to eating."

Sam vividly remembered the tomato-salad since it was on its way back up.

"I better get us some greasy baked potatoes and beef. I think there's some leftovers in the fridge to nuke."

That was it, just the mention of the potatoes swimming in butter had Sam tear his head off the roof and empty his stomach by the side of the Impala.

Dean grabbed the back his coat and held him at a ninety degrees' angle while both men congratulated each other on mission accomplished over his head. Sam hated them both.

But his head was definitely clearer when Dean pulled him to stand straight and walked him to the door. Didn't excuse anything though. At least not Dean's all-knowing smirk.

Next time Bobby offered a drink, Sam was so going with his instincts to run in the opposite direction.

-o-

Dean stood leaded up to the counter, downing his fifth coffee while Bobby was nuking the leftovers. It was late already, and he was starved. He could hardly wait or the chance to fork it down. Still most of his attention was on the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. As out of it as Sam was these days, he half expected him to blast mirrors everywhere he went. Or fall on his face down the porcelain throne. At this rate, he was ready for just about anything. He'd force-fed Sam strong coffee, a beef-jerky sandwich and Tylenol while Bobby hit the shower and then briefly left his brother in the older man's care while he washed off. There probably wasn't much warm water left and Dean hoped that a cold shower would piss Sam off enough to shake him out of the brooding mood.

Bobby played it cool, but Dean spotted the glances to the bathroom door. Sammy was on Bobby's radar too.

"Get some forks, will ya?" Bobby huffed while balancing the two overfilled bowls. The kitchen table was covered with heaps of papers and a few empty cans. Bobby unceremoniously scooted the debris to the side.

"Dig in!"

Dean didn't have to be told twice; he placed himself on a chair with a strategic view of the door in question.

Bobby threw a couple of old newspapers to the counter and planted himself at the end of the table, obviously with the same thought in mind, when his cell went off.

The bathroom door squeaked open just as he answered it with: 'Where ya at?"

Sam walked over the floor, barefoot and clad in a holey t-shirt and faded sweatpants that were too short. Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's sense of fashion; no wonder the dude got no chicks. When his nutty little brother passed the threshold into the kitchen, he visibly jumped, looking briefly over his shoulder but then he caught himself and looked sheepishly at the audience by the table.

Dean watched him make a beeline to the faucet and gulp down a glass of water in one go.

"Ellen's stopping by, says the situation was under control when she left the site. You two need anything?"

Sam shook his head and Dean muttered, loud enough for Sam to hear. "A new wardrobe's high on the list for the girly geek of the family."

Sam didn't respond, instead he stared into the glass of water, suddenly all tensed up.

Geez, he was really starting to scare the crap out of Dean. When Sam was spooked by his own shadow in broad daylight, things were bad. What the fuck was he seeing in a glass of water? Was he really going insane? Was that it? One blow too many to his head?

Sam poured the water out and pivoted, like he wanted to put a couple of states between himself and that particular sink. Face barely arranged into a cool dude expression, which he didn't even manage on the best of days, he sauntered over to the table and pulled out a chair.

Bobby cleared his throat and Dean finally pulled his eyes off his nut-case of a brother and turned to him.

"So, what was the situation when Ellen left? What are they blaming this on, drugs and TV?" This was so one of the moments when blabbering was necessary, because Sam's jumpiness was just awkward.

Sam looked down at this empty plate, clinking the fork against it and Dean wanted to beat the crap out of him for freaking everybody out and still refusing to actually talk about what was going on. It was driving Dean insane because he had no idea what to do, how to help. Stopping Sam from seeing things that were not there was not on his big brotherly short-list of how to fix things.

"Ellen didn't stick around that long. She took off as soon as they'd checked the girls out and alerted the authorities. Sam, you not gonna eat?"

"Did they say anything?" Sam blurted out. "I mean those other hunters? Weren't they wondering what happened? How all those demons didn't kill us all? Seven of us against at least two dozen of them? That's a no-brainer, we should all be dead. They have to wonder what really happened. They have to have heard things, and if they saw me, we're all on their most wanted list. Every one of us. All because I'm this demon-blooded freak who can't fuckin' keep it together."

Sam sat there, staring down at his plate, speaking with a voice laden with fear and regret.

There was a long silence as Dean tried to compose himself, tried to find a witty come back to take the heat out of the moment.

"Son, you _saved_ all our asses back there. We walked in without proper intel. We were like sitting ducks, ready to be plucked. You really think they're gonna blame anyone for not having their asses handed to them? It was dark, they were flung around, they didn't see anything and I can promise you they won't mouth off about this, coz' it'll make them look bad. All that's gonna be told is that the bastards were exorcised. Case closed."

Dean looked gratefully at their mentor, maybe he'd get though the thick head of his brother. If not, Dean didn't know to do next. Didn't know how to convince his brother that he wasn't going to become evil incarnate, not by doing good. That just didn't exist, not on his map.

Dean jumped when the door opened and Ellen walked in, hanging her coat and carrying a six-pack and a plastic bag inside the kitchen. Complaining about the long day. He relaxed when she didn't take notice of the awkwardness. Or feigned not to, he'd never know with Ellen.

She just walked right in and took control over the situation by ruffling Sam's hair like he was five years old and telling him he desperately needed a hair-cut.

Sam smiled his 'aw shucks'-smile, like he always did when someone fussed over him. And that was good enough for Dean at this point. Sam probably just needed more time to mull things over, he wasn't OCD for nothing. Every damned stone had to be turned at least five times before he was ready to accept and move on. It drove Dean crazy, but he always knew he'd have Sam back eventually. There simply was no other option.

Right now, Dean just wanted to hit the sack.

-o-

Sam didn't even remember falling asleep when he woke up with a start. The light that seeped in through the cracks around the door had the foreboding bluish tone and he was up and reaching for Dean in the blink of an eye.

But his hand slid through Dean's ankle and Sam froze. He tried again to reach out to shake Dean's shoulder, alerting him of the peril at the door. This time he stumbled backwards when his hand slid through a big pile of**…**nothing at all. Dean was breathing all right, Sam was able to see the rise of Dean's chest even from under the covers. A nightmare? One of those lucid dreams he'd read about? But if he knew he was dreaming, he should wake up, right? Or at least be able to control the dream? And he so wanted that bluish light to disappear, right freaking now!

Instead it grew in intensity as the door was opened and a figure started to appear. His eyes almost popped out when he recognized who he was looking at. No, he didn't want this dream! He wanted candy canes and lollipops!

The figure, leaning on the doorpost, snorted dismissively and looked at something by Sam's side with slight disgust.

Sam turned to investigate and his breath hitched. He saw himself lying on the bed, totally out of it.

"Am I dead? Again?" he asked. "Or is this some bad cosmic joke of a dream?"

"You're just being stupid," the figure answered him with a voice he barely recognized as his own. It sounded so different coming from the leering jerk by the door that Sam didn't even want to recognize. This was just a sick dream, maybe he was still suffering from the effects of cheap whiskey?

When he turned, ready to choke the freaking mirror image of himself, the room suddenly shifted into a long empty road. It rained and still he didn't feel the rain on his skin. It rained and the shadow he cast on the packed dirt road was still very visible. He had no idea where he was at, there were no landmarks, nothing but dim forms in the distance and endless rain.

"No!" he said out loud, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I wanna wake up, don't wanna be here."

"Still, you keep digging yourself in deeper."

He watched the shadow turn into himself. Just with a scornful expression that Sam was sure had never been on his own face.

"This is exactly where you are, lost. And you know it. You know who I am too, you've know it a long time. You just don't want to see it. Like everything else you've run from in your life. And you know there's no running now. There's nowhere left to run to, is there? You're stuck in this crap."

"Shut up!" Sam turned to walk away, he needed to be anywhere but here. He needed to find Dean and get out of this nightmare. The freak that followed was so not him, couldn't be.

"Sam Winchester, forever in denial."

Sam rolled his eyes and walked faster.

The figure walked right up to his side, flashing with some ridiculous lightning effects. "Sam Winchester, afraid of his own shadow."

Sam turned and walked right up to the abomination. It was not often he stood eye to eye with someone like this; even his father had been – was, shorter.

"Interesting, huh? When you get all pissed off you think of John. Of what he is. Well, he is your father, and you know how many genes you are bound to share. Maybe your eyes will darken with time too?"

Sam deflated and stepped back. "What do you want from me? I never asked for any of this. I don't want it, I thought that was clear?"

"And that's your problem. This is who you are, this part is you too. Powers and all. Suck it up and start dealing. You've dealt before, when Jessica burned on the ceiling. Dad dying on you while you were pissed at him. When you watched your brother being tortured, when you had to pull the trigger and end the life of someone you felt close to. You dealt with all that, but this, your own shadow, that you just don't want to accept?"

"I can't deal with it, I don't know what to do with this crap. I have no control over it. Like everything else, it just happens! I don't wanna fry someone by mistake, I don't wanna kill innocent people. I don't wanna turn into something non-human, I'd rather die!" He was screaming at himself by now, bellowing the awful truth. Letting it all out, everything he hated and feared about himself.

"You're lying to yourself and you know it. Only thing you can control is yourself. And you know it won't be easy. You think it's like walking a razor-sharp edge between right and wrong. You know you will make mistakes and risk ending up on the wrong side. You think it would be letting down Dean, letting down everybody, don't you?"

"Just shut up, shut up already!" Sam hid his face in his palms, shaking his head while the words penetrated to his very core. He knew all this, knew it all too well but he didn't want to see it for what it was. The truth about who he was, the responsibility that came along with that knowledge. Yes, he would probably be able to use and control what was inside of him. He'd felt it the times he'd instinctively reached for the power. He'd known that he had the means to use them, just like Ava, Jake and all the others. And it was up to him to decide when and how, just him. There were no instructions, no check-list for how to safely adapt demon-given powers for the good of the world. No knowing where it all would lead.

"And that's the trick; handling the unknown. You do it all the time when it concerns others. High time you start doing it when it comes to your own stupid ass. Because you know and knowing means accepting responsibility."

"Fuck you!" Sam groaned, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. "Fuck you and your preachy tone! I know what I have inside, I know it can be lethal, that it's inherently bad. I know I can learn to control it. I know I have to. I already did. I learned my lesson back there in the woods. I hesitated, I risked lives. It won't happen again. I can't fuck up because someone may see something and start talking. If it happens it happens, people will know and I'll try to keep Dean out of it. Not his fault his brother is a freak. When I need to blow the bad guys to Kingdom come, I will, if that's what it takes. That doesn't mean I can't question everything, doesn't mean I can't be pissed off at having to do it. I am, I don't want these freakish things happening around me. But they are and I am handling them the best I can. But I so won't let those powers become all that I am, they won't take over me. That will never happen, I'll fight that every step of the way so just get lost already. I know what's in me, but that's not all I am, you moron!"

"Sam! Wake up!"

Hands were shaking him hard and lifting him up. Dean's concerned face was hovering over him.

There was light outside, and Sam looked around the room for the shadow. There was none to be seen and the heavy weight in his chest had lessened drastically.

He looked at Dean, a little shameful for having freaked his brother out, again. "Wha's up?"

Dean pushed him back. "Wha's up? You mumble shit no-one can understand and look like crap? Who the hell were you just talking to? What's wrong with you?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders, smiling meekly at Dean, "Myself."

Dean's eyes grew bigger. "So you _have_ gone insane? For real?"

Sam pulled himself up to a sitting position and reached for his pants. "Nah, I'm good. I think I just Dr. Phil'd myself. Which, okay, is weird. I just had to work something out with myself and yeah, I'm slowly getting there. I'll be fine." He paused while pulling on the sock, watching how his toes came right though the worn fabric. He sighed. "Hey, it could be worse. I'm starved, want an omelet? I'll make it greasy just for you."

Dean was still watching him suspiciously when he pulled his shirt on. "What? I make better omelets than you do. I'm actually capable of boiling water without burning it. Unlike some I know."

"Hey, it happened once! I forgot the pan on the stove. Could happen to anyone!" Dean indignantly tapped his index on Sam's chest-bone.

"Sure. Pay per view porn does that to a dude." Sam leered.

"It wasn't porn! It was a study in anatomy, bitch!" Dean grinned and boxed Sam's arm. "And I'm not the one who forgot my fish sticks in the sun and spent my evening puking my guts out."

"Yeah, that was kinda stupid." Sam admitted and followed Dean out of the room.

"Kinda stupid? Man, it lessened my belief in the entire Ivy League. No one with their marbles intact would give a full ride to a moron who stuffs himself full of rancid fish."

"Jerk," Sam retaliated.

Dean circled his index at his temple before he took the stairs in two leaps. Sam just rolled his eyes in response. He'd always be able to trust Dean to mock him.

And that was exactly how things were supposed to be.

THE END


End file.
